


Click

by IdleLeaves



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 03:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10958712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdleLeaves/pseuds/IdleLeaves
Summary: Otabek's been taking photos of Yuri since he arrived - now, Yuri wants to see them.





	Click

Click.

Yuri is little more than half-awake when he hears the shutter on Otabek's camera. He opens his eyes and shifts onto his side on the sofa, dislodging the cat that had been curled up on the small of his back; she stalks off across the floor, her tail high in the air. "Again?" Yuri says, as he stretches and rolls the stiffness out of his shoulders.

"You said you didn't mind," Otabek reminds him.

Yuri props his head up on one hand and yawns. "I didn't think that meant like a thousand photos in a week," he says, and hears the sharp edges of his words too late to soften them. Truth is, he doesn't mind - not much, at least, even if he can admit to himself that he'd have agreed to almost anything Otabek had asked in those first few hours after his plane had landed.

Otabek doesn't comment on his tone - this time, at least - but sets the camera down on the long, low table in front of them. He lifts Yuri's feet so he can sit at the end of the sofa, then lets them fall into his lap.

Yuri squints into the warm, hazy summer light slanting through the windows. It must be past mid-afternoon; he hadn't meant to nap so long, to waste time when they have just three days left until Otabek flies back to Almaty and Yuri doesn't see him again until well into autumn.

"Don't move," Otabek says, and reaches for his camera. As he flicks it on, he laughs - a soft, deep sound - at the expression on Yuri's face. "You look like you want to murder the photographer," he says.

"Maybe I do," says Yuri, but it's hard to keep from smiling; it takes some work to school his face into something resembling neutral.

Once the photo's been taken, Yuri moves; he slides down the sofa to press in against Otabek's side, throwing a leg over his thigh and linking their hands together in his lap. He tilts his head for a kiss, but pulls back when he feels Otabek's free hand on his hip, before things have a chance to heat up. "Let me see," he says.

"See what?"

"The pictures."

Otabek pulls his hand out of Yuri's; he calls up the images on the camera's small viewscreen and hands it over with no more than a split second of hesitation. "I promise they're not all of you."

Yuri knows that, already. Otabek has kept his camera close all week. Yuri's watched him take photos of the St. Petersburg skyline, in the morning and at dusk; of the view from the rooftops with the evening sun turning windows gold with reflected light; of the sea and the rink and streets and parks and terrible tourist attractions. Most of them, though - most of them are of Yuri.

He taps the arrow beside the viewscreen and scrolls through the photos a few at a time, stopping here and there to give some a closer look.

_Yuri, asleep face-down on the sofa with a cat on his back. His shirt has ridden up to expose his midriff, and his head is pressed into the sofa cushion that passes for a pillow._

_Yuri, standing at the shore with waves rippling the water in front of him. His hands are in his pockets, and his head is turned to glance behind him toward the camera, toward the person behind it._

_Yuri, on the ice, hands on his hips and the picks of one skate planted in the ice. He's stone-faced, focused, eyes narrowed. The activity on the ice around him appears to go unnoticed._

"My soldier," Otabek teases. Yuri snorts.

_Yuri, in practice gear and his team jacket, braiding his hair in front of the mirror in his bedroom, bobby pins between his lips._

_Yuri, curled up on the sofa in an oversized hoodie, head bent forward as he swipes at his phone. His feet are bare; there's gauze stretched over one heel and tape on three of his toes._

_Yuri, in front of Otabek's rented motorcycle with his helmet still in his hands. The sun is starting to peek out from behind the rainclouds; Yuri is soaked, but there's a smile on his face._

_Yuri, standing on the busy city sidewalk outside his favourite restaurant, hair blown into his eyes by the wind. His arms are crossed and he looks ready to slap the next person who speaks to him._

"I'm setting that as my phone background," Otabek says.

"You wouldn't," Yuri says.

"Of course I would," Otabek says, warmly, and Yuri believes him.

_Yuri, during their rooftop tour, crouched beside a chimney with the city spread out in the background. He holds out his hand toward the camera, beckoning._

_Yuri, with Otabek beside him, one hand on Yuri's shoulder and the other holding the camera out at arm's length. The photo is crooked and underexposed; the focus is less than ideal._

"This one,' Yuri says, tapping his finger against the screen. "Send it to me."

Otabek studies the image for a moment. "That's a terrible photo."

Yuri shrugs. "Don't care. It's the only one with both of us."

"We could take a better one," Otabek suggests, and Yuri finds no reason to object. Otabek gets to his feet, taking the camera with him; he sets it on top of the TV and fusses with the settings. "Think three tries is enough?"

"Yeah."

"Twenty seconds," Otabek says as he returns to the sofa. He draws Yuri close to him with an arm around his shoulders; Yuri reaches up to cover Otabek's hand with his own, and he doesn't even scowl as the shutter clicks.

"Hey," says Otabek. When Yuri turns his head he's met with a kiss.

Click.

Otabek pulls back just enough to speak. "There," he says, breath warm against Yuri's mouth.

"Ass," says Yuri.

Click.

_Yuri and Otabek in the afternoon sun, heads tilted toward one another, foreheads almost close enough to touch. They're looking into each other's eyes, and both are smiling._


End file.
